


Bound To Happen

by Neuron



Category: Bleach
Genre: Anal Sex, I tried to write something sexy, M/M, and then i threw feelings at it, grimmjow is in denial of course, resurrección grimmjow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuron/pseuds/Neuron
Summary: It was never even supposed to turn out like this. They were supposed to just be fucking. A new way for them to spar; taking enjoyment in the action while fighting to see the other come undone. Feelings were never supposed to come into play but here they are.





	Bound To Happen

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this little story for months now, originally I intended to have it done for Grimmichi day but that didn't work out. I'll admit that I don't feel entirely satisfied with it but I wanted to post it now or I feel like I never will otherwise.
> 
> I'd just like to note that this is only the second time I have ever written anything explicit, the first time being 10 years ago and, oh boy, it was _bad _. I'm hoping it's better this time around.__

_He’s been thinking about it for a while._

It would be hard for anyone not to be taken in by Grimmjow’s _resurrección_. That’s what Ichigo believes anyway. Grimmjow was a conspicuous person in general, even in his sealed form. Blue hair and the remains of his hollow mask sat upon his face in the form of sharp teeth. Inoue had once said he was an interesting person to look at and Ichigo agreed, only his interest grew into attraction. And that attraction _ached_ within him when he parried claw tipped fingers with his blade, bracing as Grimmjow used him to propel himself up and away to avoid the retaliating blow. Long, blue hair streamed through the air, following the movement of the lean body that appeared more slender than usual while trapped beneath that white bodysuit of armour.

Armour that was strong enough to withstand even his most powerful attacks yet thin and tight enough to cup every curve and line of muscle.

Could you _really_ blame Ichigo for getting a boner?

Grimmjow landed perfectly on his feet grinning excitedly and stooping forward as he charged towards him, sand kicked up behind him, and aimed to attack once more. He was stronger and faster than he had been during their fight in the winter war, and a with few knew tricks up his sleeve.  Grimmjow was the type who rarely kept his feet on the ground during a fight. He attacked from all directions, twisting and somersaulting and giving Ichigo a view of his ass from every angle. Still, Ichigo knew he was stronger between the two of them (and Grimmjow knew it too, much as he refused to admit it), but a hard-on could be considered a handicap and that’s what Ichigo blamed when Grimmjow ducked below his swinging blade and kicked his feet from beneath him.

His back hit the sand hard, a choked gasp escaping his throat and the fake sun hanging in the fake sky blinding him. His eyes stung but he forced them open knowing Grimmjow was still close and a second’s hesitation could result in a mauling. His heart skipped a beat when he found Grimmjow stood over him, a victorious smirk curling onto his lips, and Ichigo’s face darkened. This fight wasn’t over yet and if Grimmjow thought he had won then –

“Really, Kurosaki…” Grimmjow drawls, amusement dancing in his blue eyes that were – _oh_ – focusing directly at the obvious tent in his pants. A thin eyebrow rose up as he glances up to meet Ichigo’s gaze, “already?”

This wasn’t the first time by the way.

In fact, arousal during fighting was how this whole relationship of theirs had started. Adrenaline, torn clothes, sweaty bodies, intense stares and hot breath beating down on their faces and before they knew it they were rutting against each other in the sand.

It had been a strange and confusing revelation for both of them but when something feels _this_ good you don’t fight against it. In fact, it had come to the stage where Ichigo carried lube every time he knew he was to meet with Grimmjow; stashed within the layers of his _shihakushou_ and the weight of anxiety pressing down on his shoulder _knowing_ it was there and that it could be discovered. And of course that is exactly what happened one day a few weeks back.

With Urahara of all people.

_He didn’t know how - he thought he had tucked it safely away - but it had fallen out onto the sand between their feet. He had just been ready to leave for Hueco Mundo – Grimmjow had not graced him with his presence for a while and Ichigo was itching for a spar… and maybe something more – bidding Urahara farewell in front of the open Garganta when it just slipped. A soft thump on the sandy terrain and the two men stopped to look at the slim, cylinder, plastic container with the words (in a large distinguishable font of course) “MAXIMUM PERFORMANCE” across the top, because obviously it just had to land face up._

_The silence that followed was one of the most hideously painful moments of Ichigo’s life as they both just stared at it, one in abject horror and the other… well it was hard to tell what Urahara was thinking. He was stooped forward ever so slightly, his scraggly hair falling in front of his eyes and that fan of his positioned so it covered the lower half of his face. Ichigo didn’t want to ask, he didn’t want to know whatever he may have been thinking. He thought about his options, from laughing it off to a flat out - “that’s not mine” – kind of denial but he could do neither. Instead he stood there, appalled, with his heart thudding in his chest so hard he was sure Urahara could hear it and some part of him embraces the thought of cardiac arrest._

_He wanted to be anywhere but it this situation but all the blood in his body had rushed to his cheeks and he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak; he just stood listening to his distraught mind screaming in pure embarrassment._

_Urahara looked up at him, “I think you’ve dropped something, Ichigo-kun.”_

_“Ah.”_

_It was a pathetic sound really. He feels like a mindless puppet on strings as he bends down to pick up the plastic tube and withdraws his hand inside his sleeve. Urahara watches him, fanning himself slowly with a blank expression. Ichigo could still feel his face burning as he offers Urahara a stiff nod before marching into the Garganta, desperate to escape even though his humiliation creeps after him like a shame-poltergeist. He stares determinedly forward and focused his reaitsu, creating a pathway beneath his feet and walks further into the darkness when he hears Urahara’s amused voice echo from the fading light behind him._

_“Have fun, Ichigo-kun!”_

_He grit his teeth. Pervert. He felt a throb in his cheeks as the colour creeped back to his face and Ichigo could only hope it would fade before he reached Las Noches because he did not want to relay this story to Grimmjow._

The memory slips away instantly and he’s brought back to the present when Grimmjow lifts his foot from the ground and rubs his padded soles along Ichigo’s clothed member, a guttural groan tumbling from Ichigo’s lips. His head drops back as he allows himself to just enjoy the friction for a moment while watching Grimmjow through half closed eyes.

He looked so damn pleased with himself.

It’s sexy, no doubt about it, and dangerous. The reiatsu that leaked from his body was pure hollow; powerful and greedy. Grimmjow’s _resurrección_ was a harsh reminder that he was far from human. A monster some people would call him, and given some of Grimmjow’s past deeds they had every reason to call him that.

Ichigo pushed himself upright and extended his hand, “come ‘ere,” he murmured in a deep voice, studying how Grimmjow raises an eyebrow at the command (because _yes_ it was a command), before deciding on some kind of _to-hell-with-it_ compliance. He removes his foot from Ichigo’s crotch before lowering himself over Ichigo’s body.

As soon as their lips brushed Ichigo hooked a leg over one of Grimmjow’s own, grasped him by the back of the neck and reversed their position, slamming the arrancar onto his back instead. He expected resistance of some kind but all he received was a breathy chuckle.

“Fuckin’ _knew_ you were going to do that.”

Ichigo pulled back to stare into those cyanide eyes that were observing him with both amusement and interest. “Then why didn’t you stop me?” _It’s not like you to let yourself be thrown around_ , he adds silently.

Grimmjow hums lightly, looking bored even as Ichigo squeezes the back of his neck. He can still feel the thrum of that dangerous reiatsu and the voices of the people who would tell him he’s crazy for doing this with such a person. _He’s too wild. Too untamed. He could consume you_.

“You look like you have something to say,” Grimmjow interrupts his thoughts in a growling voice and Ichigo can see his sharp teeth so clearly from this angle. “Was wonderin’ if you were gonna quit being a little bitch and _say it_.”

_Say it._

-

Kurosaki’s expression was a mixture of seriousness and indecision, his brows were pinched together – which was not unlike him – but his eyes seemed unsure. Grimmjow noted the way his jaw moved, like he was grinding his teeth or chewing his inner cheek. They stared at each other for some time; lying in the sand with their crotches pressed together (not that Grimmjow could feel a thing through his armour) when Grimmjow noticed the tips of Kurosaki’s ears turning red followed by a blush spreading across his cheeks and nose. He drops his head back into the sand, a pointed canine revealing itself as his lips curl in amusement.

No matter how many times they fuck Kurosaki could still behave like an innocent maiden. It was usually when he thinking of something particularly dirty, like when he suggested they experiment with some new positions (some of which turned out to be near fatal Grimmjow had discovered and it was a good job he was so flexible). It was hilarious in some respects.  Grimmjow had seen him on the battlefield, facing opponents who outmatched and outmanoeuvred him, but his eyes constantly burned with pride and confidence, determined to pull a victory out of his ass as always.

But he still couldn’t ask for a hand-job without stuttering. Amazing.

Yet when they got into it, when he stopped _thinking_ about it so goddamn much, Kurosaki could have him writhing and clutching at the sheets; giving him just enough to set his nerves alight but keeping him balanced on the edge until Grimmjow was on the verge of begging (he won’t though thank you very much) before giving him release.

Fuck he was hard just thinking about it. His erection trapped uncomfortably in his armour and he thinks it’s time to shift back into his sealed form, he doubts they’ll be fighting again anytime soon.

“I want…”

Kurosaki’s rough voice makes him pause. He trails off to clear his throat and swallow; Grimmow’s eyes dart down to watch the movement in his throat before going back to meet the tense brown eyes and skin that seemed to take on a deeper shade of red. And Grimmjow doesn’t bother to keep the smirk off his face because he knows Kurosaki is going to ask for something new, something they haven’t done before, and that excites him. He _likes_ seeing Kurosaki take the initiative.

“I want to fuck you in your release form.”

If he didn’t have such good hearing, he would have missed it as it was uttered so quickly and softly. For a second Grimmjow is lost for words and then all he could do is laugh, which turned Kurosaki’s tentative expression into one of aggravation. But Grimmjow couldn’t help himself. He was _pleased_. Kurosaki, despite his blushes, was letting loose more and more all the time. He wanted it harder, rougher, and dirtier, and now he even wanted Grimmow in his primal, animalistic form; raw with all claws and fangs. He felt a little smug actually and he wonders if Kurosaki’s friends would ever believe what naughty little fantasies their hero has tucked away.

“You’re gonna have to say that again,” Grimmjow purrs, lifting his head and shoulders off the ground to brush his lips against Kurosaki’s teasingly. Brown eyes darken as Grimmjow bends the leg trapped between Kurosaki’s own two and purposely brushes it against his erection. He can feel the heat from Kurosaki’s skin and hear his heart thudding in his chest. Fear of rejection or anticipation? He hopes for the latter. “…Bit louder this time.”

Kurosaki seizes a fistful of his hair and slams his head back down onto the ground. It’s just sand, it doesn’t hurt but only causes Grimmjow’s grin to widen, looking all the more entertained by Kurosaki’s growing frustration.

Truthfully he does it on purpose; he _want_ s to see those brown eyes smoulder. Kurosaki still pisses him off, he’s empathetic and naïve and Grimmjow had hated the way the human hybrid had looked at him. Kurosaki had made him feel inferior, and not just in terms of strength, but as a living being. Despite being a hollow – a creature born of pain and despair – he had flesh and blood and consciousness; he was _alive_ in so many ways but compared to Kurosaki’s presence his own existence had felt substandard.

He was just so _good_ it had made Grimmjow want to throw up.  Honourable and always looking for the best in people; looking for the best in _him_. And Grimmjow had found himself weakened, flocking to him like so many others did. He doesn’t know when it happened but he recognizes now that he doesn’t want Kurosaki dead anymore. He wants the fight, do not misunderstand, and he wants to win but he knows deep down he does not wish to put him down for good.

Instead he wants to see him. _All_ of him. Not just the hero, Soul Society’s trump card, or the grumpy teenager who restrains himself for the sake of civility; but the man that he was. His power, his wrath, his selfishness and greed.

All the dirt that resides within every person’s soul as much as they may try to deny it.

And that’s why he grins now, even when Kurosaki tugs painfully on his hair in response, the hand planted next to his head fists the grains of sand furiously.

“You know damn well what I said…”

He’s pissed, even with a light blush dusting over his cheeks and nose, and the hand that was buried in the sand comes to his chest, blunt fingernails raking down Grimmjow’s armoured torso until they came to rest just above his hollow hole. His eyes consume Grimmjow’s body hungrily but there’s always that hint of hesitation lingering behind his desire. His humanity that interferes with all his decision making; a moral code that stops a man becoming a beast. He wouldn’t be Kurosaki without it but Grimmjow wishes he would let go of valiant routine more often.

 _Take what you want_ , Grimmjow thought as Kurosaki’s eyes trail back up his chest, lingering on his throat, before capturing his gaze, lustful and craving. _Take it_.

“ _Get rid of this.”_

He couldn’t even feel the pressure of his fingers through his armour but it’s the heat in Kurosaki’s command that forces a delightful shiver down Grimmjow’s spine. His lips curl into a gleeful smirk, a twitch in his reiatsu and the white armour shifts; slowly peeling back to reveal tanned skin, scarred and marked from numerous battles. It stops at his hips, leaving his lower body still covered and protected but Kurosaki hadn’t seemed to notice. He has to force back a shudder when Kurosaki’s fingers immediately go to trace the scar that mars his torso. It’s faded somewhat over the past few years but it’s still by far the most obvious blemish on his skin. Not that Grimmjow cares, not when Kurosaki is devouring him with his eyes like this.  His fingertips reach the top of Grimmjow’s sternum when Kurosaki’s expression morphs into a serious one. Slowly he begins tracing over above Grimmjow pectoral and Grimmjow realizes he is following the curve of another scar; the one carved into him by Nnoitra’s blade. He doesn’t react; instead he watches Kurosaki’s sombre eyes following the movement of his fingers until he reaches the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Unable to trace any further – as the scar curves over onto his back – he leans forward and replaces his fingers with his mouth, his tongue flicking gently before he bites down, hard, on the scar in a possessive way.

Grimmjow groaned, long past caring about Kurosaki’s teeth being right by his throat. The first time he’d tried it Grimmjow had snarled at him, instinct rallying and warning him of the dangers of letting anyone near his throat. But after some time they had established a level of trust and he did not feel threatened by Kurosaki in such ways. Relationship development some people would call it, but whatever the fuck it was all Grimmjow knew is that he liked it when Kurosaki nipped and bit at his skin, when he tasted the blood he drew; his eyes darkening in lust.

It’s one of his favourite looks.

He feels Kurosaki tug his hair and he follows the direction, tipping his head to the right and allowing Kurosaki to leave a trail of kisses and bites up the side of his neck until he felt his nose burying itself in the soft fur that covered his ear. He exhales softly and Grimmjow flicks his ear, impatient, when he feels Kurosaki’s left hand caressing its way back down his chest, his thumb briefly swiping at his nipple. As it passes the hole in his abdomen, the same thumb dips inside, brushing along the cold flesh for only a second before it was removed but it was still enough to make Grimmjow’s breath catch in his throat, a hearty groan following. His hole was a complex area; it could bring both pleasant and painful sensations depending on the touch and Grimmjow was weary of wandering hands getting too close. He’d never said so out loud but somehow Kurosaki had understood, so he left only the slightest touches, never lingering.

“I thought I told you to get rid of this?” Kurosaki murmured in his ear, the pads of his fingers brushed along the line where the armour Grimmjow had yet to remove started.

“Not my fault it takes you ages to get on with it,” Grimmjow snorted but he complied anyway, his armour sliding away almost soundlessly. The sand against his cheeks and thighs is strange but he feels warm under the heat of Urahara’s fake sky and with Kurosaki’s body so close. Again, he raised his leg and slides it against Kurosaki’s arousal, which he feels prominently this time, and grins when he incites a gasp from Kurosaki’s lips.

He feels hands on his hips, caressing in circles before running down his thighs, Kurosaki draws himself upright, taking Grimmjow’s naked form in entirely while he lounges passively, still rubbing his leg up against Kurosaki. He’ll play docile for now; he wants to see what Kurosaki will do – how he’ll _handle_ him. He’s not dumb; everything about Grimmjow is more dangerous in this form, his teeth and claws sharper and tongue rougher.

-

Ichigo takes the leg that is rubbing against him by the underside of the knee and pulls it away, planting his foot on the floor so he was now positioned between Grimmjow’s spread thighs. His hand brushes the sleek black fur that covers his feet and shins as his eyes drink up the slight in front of him. How long has he wanted this? He doesn’t know, he can’t remember, but now it’s here and he decides not to waste a second of it.

One hand drops straight to Grimmjow’s arousal, already hard and waiting for attention. A soft groan of approval slips from his lips and his eyes shut when Kurosaki’s fingers wrap around him and begin working his shaft.

A small smile forms on Ichigo’s face as Grimmjow relaxes below him, content in allowing Ichigo to pleasure him. The blush had finally faded from his cheeks - talking about anything sexual was not one of his strong points which was strange considering the things he had done with Grimmjow. But with every gasp and moan that fell from Grimmjow’s lips Ichigo felt himself gain back his confidence. He could tease just as much as the other could, and he could do it better if he may say so himself. He worked his hand up and down Grimmjow’s cock from base to tip with a firm grasp pausing momentarily to rub his thumb over the slit feeling wet pre-cum and smearing it over the head. He felt the muscles in Grimmjow’s thighs tensing and the long fur-covered tail beat against the ground and Ichigo decided this was a good moment to stop.

A growl erupted from Grimmjow’s throat and his eyes cracked up when the warm grip left him. Ichigo only smirked at him, silencing the protests to come with a hard kiss and meeting Grimmjow’s tongue with his own.

Blood is drawn within a matter of seconds as both his tongue and lips are caught on Grimmjow’s pointed teeth. It stings and he winces but never once pulls away. He knows when dealing with Grimmjow that he’s dealing with a predator. Weakness will be preyed upon so he must always give as much as he gets. Grimmjow is lapping at the blood on his lip when he slides one hand around his throat, pinning him down on the sand and the other goes to cradle his balls, giving a quick squeeze and earning a grunt from the arrancar.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Grimmjow rasps, dropping his head back and licking blood from around his mouth seductively. Ichigo watches the movement, the darkness of the blood – _his_ blood – disappearing inside Grimmjow’s mouth and he feels a throb below. A part of him wants to fill Grimmjow’s mouth with a different kind of body fluid but the sight of pointed teeth and the sting on his lips is enough to put the idea from his mind.

His fingers flex around Grimmjow’s throat, his grip loosening just enough for a frown to appear on Grimmjow’s face.

“Yer not backing out on me are you?”

There’s a hint of disappointment in his voice but when Ichigo’s gaze breaks away from a spot of blood on the corner of his mouth he finds there is nothing but challenge in Grimmjow’s eyes. It’s thrilling how those eyes – that dazzling blue – spur him on like no other. A simple _look_ and he’s pressing his weight against the other, the hand that had been gently massaging his balls slides further down until a single digit presses against Grimmjow’s rear opening, just barely slipping inside.

Grimmjow snarls suddenly, his claw tipped hand shooting up and grasping orange locks, wrenching Ichigo’s face closer to his own.

“You fuck me dry and I’ll fuck you up,” he warns

Ichigo’s eyes narrow and a crease in his brow appears as he gives Grimmjow a somewhat dark look and Grimmjow’s world suddenly spins. Faster than he can even react, Ichigo seizes him by his hips and flips him over.

-

Grimmjow manages to shout half a word before he gets a mouthful of sand. He pounds the floor with his fists and pushes his face away, spluttering. His hair has gone _everywhere,_ spilling over the bone mask that now crowned his forehead. He’s half ready to spin around and claw the bastard to death when he feels those hands grip him tightly at the hips and yank him onto his knees, ass in the air. He braces himself on his forearms as he spits the last grains of sand from in mouth in disgust when he feels Kurosaki’s hand brushing through his tangled hair, sweeping back the strands away from his face. It took some doing as there was so much of it and by the time Kurosaki had brushed it all back Grimmjow had begun to enjoy the relaxing sensation it brought and dismissed the urge to maul him. He did shit like this all the time, swapping from rough to gentle and vice versa in an instant. He could have him snarling one moment and moaning the next.

The hand in his hair suddenly seizes a fistful of his long, blue strands, _twists_ and uses them to yank his head back.  His spine curves and neck strains and once again he proved he’s lucky to be flexible otherwise it could have been painful.

Back to rough it seems.

His attention his caught when Kurosaki is waving a small bottle between his fingers in front of Grimmjow’s face. It takes him a second to focus before he realises just exactly what it was.

Kurosaki releases his hair and he relaxes, rolling his neck a little, but still watching Kurosaki from the corner of his eye as he flicks off the lid and pumps out a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

“I wasn’t going to,” he states firmly, meeting Grimmjow’s look with a somewhat serious expression.

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment while Kurosaki spreads the lube equally over his fingers with his thumb before Grimmjow snorts and turns back to face the sand.

A slippery finger traces the edge of his hollow hole and Grimmjow shivers at the sensation. It follows the rim from the top around to the bottom before being joined by two more fingers  that rake down the line of his spine to the base of his tail; another sensitive area. He groans when Kurosaki digs his blunt nails in the fur there; his back arching and his tail whips in the air.

“Careful,” Kurosaki says teasingly, and Grimmjow can feel the smug smile on his face, watching him lose it over a back scratch. His other hand comes to take Grimmjow’s tail and place it over his shoulder out of the way. Grimmjow swallows and parts his knees some more as those fingers trace over one cheek leaving a trail of cooling lube until they slip between his crack and rub over his opening.

He exhales shakily waiting for Ichigo to press into him but it doesn’t come. Instead he continues to rub frustratingly slowly, up and down, up and down.

“For fucks sake, Kurosaki! _Do something!”_

Immediately a finger slips inside him and Grimmjow swore as it went straight up against that bundle of nerves. A tremor rushes through his body and his arms shake as he braces his head against the sand. “…Fucker…” he manages weakly and another finger joins the first inside his body, stretching and rubbing his walls.

Ichigo ignored him for a moment, idly stroking Grimmjow’s hip and thigh as his other hand works to prepare him.  Preparation that wasn’t particularly necessary really. So long as they had lube Ichigo knows Grimmjow would take it hard and relentless from the start but Ichigo prefers to take a slower approach. The foreplay isn’t for Grimmjow; it’s for him. When his fingers brushed against his prostate, the dip in Grimmjow’s back was what captured Ichigo’s attention. The gasps and groans that punctuated his curses were the sounds he heard most clearly.

“You wanted it,” he answered eventually.

He knows what Grimmjow wants and he’ll give it to him, in a manner of speaking. As soon as he’s finished having his own fun first. Slowly, slowly rubbing circles against that spot, edging another finger inside after adding a little more lube and opening him up.

“I swear to _fuck_ , Kurosaki,” Grimmjow begins with a snarl, his body trembling under Ichigo’s ministrations, “I’m going to fucking kill you if you don’t –“

“Don’t what?” Ichigo says completely halting his movements and allowing the tiniest of smirks to grace his lips when Grimmjow groans in frustration. He uses his free hand to tug open the front of his _shihakushou_ – already pulled loose from their spar – and finally releases his own aching erection. He pumps himself a few times quickly to release some tension and slowly withdraws his fingers from Grimmjow ass with a squelch; lube dripping from his hole and down his thighs obscenely.

“You fucking bast _-ard –!”_

Grimmjow’s curse breaks off at the end when Ichigo pushes the head of his cock just inside Grimmjow’s wet hole. Placing his hands on either side of Grimmjow’s hips, Ichigo holds him firmly and uses him as leverage, sheathing himself inside Grimmjow’s body. He allows himself a moment to simply enjoy the heat surrounding him, listening to Grimmjow’s shaky breathing knowing he is growing impatient before pulling out and pressing back in.

-

There’s a moment of relief for the two of them, sharing satisfied sighs before Kurosaki begins to set up a moderate pace. Grimmjow can feel his fingernails digging into the skin near hips even through his hierro but it doesn’t bother him, not with a hard six inches being speared in and out of his rectum. He feels a growl crawl up his throat and tumble from his lips in a low groan; his eyes are slipping shut as he rocks himself back to meet Kurosaki’s thrusts. He can hear Kurosaki breathing harder and it’s easy to imagine his messy orange hair and flushed face.

“Shit, _Grimmjow_.”

His hips are hoisted a little higher and Grimmjow buries his face in his forearms, allowing Kurosaki to set the pace. He arcs his back and the pleasure becomes more intense, he tries unsuccessfully to bite back the sounds escaping him. Kurosaki changes his rhythm occasionally, experimenting with long, deep thrusts, and fast, shallow ones that just barely teased his prostate. Impulsively he starts to push back against the thrusts, urging Kurosaki to go harder, as a tightening sensation begins to form just below his gut. Apparently taking the hint, Kurosaki’s hand seizes Grimmjow’s hair once again, only this time instead of yanking him up he presses him down until the side of Grimmjow’s face lays in the sand. He goes to protest but Kurosaki’s movements are suddenly a lot harder and more frantic. He moans a curse, his eyes struggling to stay open, and the hand that still remains on his hip grows painfully tight. Sand is sticking to the sweat gathered on his cheek but with the constant friction on his sweet spot he can’t bring himself to care.

“Is this rough enough for you?” He hears Kurosaki’s breathy voice somewhere close to his ear and his dick throbs at the provocative tone. The fingers in his hair twitch. “Fuck Grimmjow, you feel so good…”

Grimmjow shuts his eyes and groans. “Seriously K-Kurosaki, just shut up and fuck me, okay. Your dirty talk sucks.”

He can _feel_ the indignant stare and he expects to have his head yanked back or something but instead Kurosaki slows to a halt before pulling himself out completely. Grimmjow’s eyes open when he feels hands on his hip and shoulder guiding him over onto his back. The movement is far less sudden and aggressive than the first time he was flipped over, both of them wary of sand reaching uncovered and sensitive body parts. Still Grimmjow grimaces when he lays solidly on his back, his hair spewed wildly out around on the sand, with Kurosaki towering over him. A calloused hand brushes the sand off his sweat slicked face as best he can before lips still tinged with blood cascade onto his. He kisses back, adding a little tongue and teeth, only to break off in a gasp when Kurosaki pushes back inside him, hoisting his right leg over his shoulder, and planting his hand right next to Grimmjow’s head. He pulls out until just the tip rests inside before sinking quickly back in, burying himself, and Grimmjow feels their balls pressed together for half a second and Kurosaki is repeating the action. He’s breathing hard the fourth time he feels Kurosaki sheath himself, pleasure humming throughout his body, and on the sixth he grips the wrist next to his head just to fucking anchor himself. Above him Kurosaki is panting, his face damp, and his gaze fixed directly at Grimmjow.

He’s at this shit again.

He doesn’t want to deal with Kurosaki’s penetrating stare nor the uneasy feelings that come with it. He feels naked in more than just a physical sense. Instead he uses his spare hand to seize Kurosaki’s orange locks and drag him down for another bruising kiss which is returned fervently.

“C’mon, _harder_ Kurosaki,” he bites demandingly against his lips and his claws dig into the flesh of his shoulder, raking them down his back and delighting in the pained hiss he receives and the scent of  fresh blood filling the air. Kurosaki would cuss him out for that later. _Good_.

To his fucking dismay though, Kurosaki does not go harder. His hand is snatched and pinned above his head with Kurosaki’s weight trapping him. His hips are now off the ground as he is folded, his foot bouncing uselessly in the air and his moans are swallowed up by Kurosaki’s mouth. His pace has quickened and he’s angled to catch Grimmjow’s prostate with almost every jerk of his hips.

This position would be fucking perfect if Kurosaki would just _shut his fucking eyes_ more.

He’s right _there_ ; face mere centimetres from his own, close enough so that their lips occasionally brush, sometimes developing into a kiss, sometimes not. When he opens his eyes he can’t look at anything besides Kurosaki and the fucker is just staring at him with an expression that made his chest contract. Sweaty and concentrated but filled with fondness or some other shit that shouldn’t be there.

He tries to jerk his hand free and fails, snarling at the tiny, playful smile dancing on Kurosaki’s lips. He kisses him quickly, pulling back just enough to evade when Grimmjow’s attempts to nip him before bringing his forehead to rest against the bone crown sitting on Grimmjow’s own. Finally Kurosaki allows his eyes to drift shut but Grimmjow can still feel his breath fluttering against his skin and their noses bump together with every rock of his hips.

“Tch, you… a-always gotta fu _-fu_ cking be like this, aint’cha Kurosaki?” he growls but it comes out far weaker than he intended.

“Hmm?” He regrets his words when Kurosaki reopens his eyes, pulling his face away just enough for Grimmjow to see a crease between his brows. The hand pinning his own twitches and tightens and Kurosaki’s movements accelerate, piercing him deeper. Lips trail along his jaw tantalizingly slow, the warm flat of his tongue gliding over his throat. He wriggles but there is nowhere for him to go, Kurosaki has him immobilized and completely at his whim.

 _Bastard_ , he wants to snarl but all he manages is a choked cry, the glare on his face cracking almost instantaneously as his eyes slip shut and his left leg hooks itself around Kurosaki’s back, clenching and dragging him closer. He can feel the fucker smirking when their lips meet again and he adamantly refuses to look at him because he can’t deal with the smug expression he knows is on his face. He writhes and clings tightly as Kurosaki takes him hard in the open terrain, his breath coming out in sharp gasps, and he feels a tension growing in his gut; twisting and begging for release. His arousal is bobbing freely between them, a trickle of pre-cum leaked from the slit and smeared just below his hollow hole. Kurosaki has yet to touch him - his hands preoccupied with holding Grimmjow down and keeping balance - and the need for friction was becoming desperate. His tail beat against the ground franticly, his gut coiling tighter when Kurosaki rams into him and grunts, his breathing as uneven as Grimmjow’s.

“Kurosaki…”

He manages to pry his eyes open, squinting at the brightness and focusing on the tanned face hovering above him, so close he could count the faint freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks. (He won’t mind you, because that’s stupid and cheesy and something Grimmjow does not do).

“Fucking touch me already.”

It’s Kurosaki who breaks their locked gaze this time, leaning down and capturing Grimmjow in a slow and messy kiss, tongues meeting hungrily and Kurosaki pulls back just enough to mumble - “ _alright_ ” – as if he’d simply been waiting for Grimmjow to ask. He squeezes his hand one last time before releasing him and Grimmjow feels fingers trail devilishly down his side, grazing over each ridge of muscle, and he forces himself not to squirm. Finally his palm curls around his aching member and Grimmjow lets out a deep, gluttonous groan, relief washing over him as Kurosaki begins to jerk him in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations push him towards completion, his freed hand – suddenly cold and deprived - is grasping at the sand uselessly and all it takes is a matter of seconds and he seizes up, his whole body tensing for a moment of pure euphoria, his eyes wide and unseeing, before he shudders and streams of milky cum shoot from his cock and land on his chest. When the tremors stop he sags, boneless, as if all his energy disappeared with his orgasm and for a short time he is blissfully detached from the world.

-

Ichigio watches and feels every second of Grimmjow’s orgasm, from the build up to the aftermath. Before he touched him he could feel Grimmjow quivering around his length, a sure sign that he was close but he’d wanted Grimmjow to ask for it (begging was out of the question, no matter how far gone he was he doubted Grimmjow would ever beg). His erection was hot and stiff in his fist, it had only taken half a dozen strokes before Grimmjow was clenching impossibly tight around him; his hole fluttering and thighs squeezing and locking him in place. He watched Grimmjow’s lips part but no sound came out so Ichigo moaned in his stead, staring into those enthralling blue eyes, currently blinded by pleasure. He doesn’t appear to hear him when Ichigo says his name, still too lost in ecstasy, and Ichigo allows himself to feel pleased knowing he had fully sated his partner.

The cock in his hand softens and he pulls away, tucking his palm beneath Grimmjow’s head and cradling his skull as he begins to thrust more urgently now, ready to chase his own orgasm to completion. The knot in his stomach is already coiled tight and he knows it won’t be long before he’s gone too, especially when faced with Grimmjow’s after-glow expression. The lines between his brows smoothed away, the sneer on his lips nowhere to be seen, and not a hint of animosity in his eyes. All that was left was a look of tiredness and contentment and it was all for him.

“Fuck, Grimmjow…”

He groans loudly when Grimmjow’s spine arches, a kneejerk reaction from the stimulation on his oversensitive prostate, and he feels a claw-tipped hand tugging at his shihakushou that fell loosely from his shoulders. Awareness could be identified in Grimmjow’s eyes again and Ichigo spots the slightest hint of a smirk of his lips before he’s clamping impossibly tight around his member.

He gasps, his eyes closing and his fingers tug gently on blue hair as he unloads his seed inside Grimmjow’s body, jerking his hips and riding out his final thrusts until he feels exhaustion creep into his bones.  He stills eventually with his cheek pressed against Grimmjow’s, he can feel warm puffs of air against his ear and a pulse he isn’t sure is his own thudding in his skull.  The leg Grimmjow had wrapped around his back slipped to the ground followed more slowly by his hand and Ichigo takes this as a hint to move. He gingerly pushes himself up, wincing as aches and pains flare to life, most noticeable on his back where Grimmjow had attempted to _maul_ him and now slick perspiration was seeping into his cuts and stinging.

He’s not mad though. He can’t bring himself to be, especially not when he gave as good as he got. He glances over Grimmjow’s own injuries – bloodied lips and bruised neck and hips – before meeting his gaze. His expression is difficult to read but it doesn’t come across as hostile, if anything he seems surprisingly docile. His chest is still rising and falling quicker than normal but he’s come round from his high. They stare at each other for several moments and Ichigo feels the urge to say something. His lips part but no words follow. Instead he simply smiles, idly stroking the pads of his fingers along Grimmjow’s leg.

Grimmjow would probably just tell him to shut up anyway.

-

Grimmjow braces himself when Kurosaki opens his mouth, ready to retort with something dismissive or sarcastic. He feels momentary relief when the words never come out but that relief dies almost instantly because everything Kurosaki wants to say is written in those fucking _eyes_ of his _._ The ones that he hated for so long. They’re warm just like the little smile adorning his lips. Kurosaki presses a chaste kiss to Grimmjow’s lips before pulling back, lowering the leg hooked over his shoulder to the floor as his soft member slips from Grimmjow’s body, earning  a light shiver. Grimmjow feels him flop down on the sand, their arms touching as they catch their breath and enjoy the aftermath.

Grimmjow stares blankly at the sky above them, the vast blue dotted with fluffy clouds – he doesn’t see this though. All he sees is a pair of deep brown eyes.

In those eyes Grimmjow had once only seen conceit and pity aimed towards him, now he sees a myriad of emotions many of which he could never put a name to. He recognised attraction, lust, desire maybe. But then there were the other things, the feelings he had only seen Kurosaki display towards his friends and those he cared for the most; they were now also being directed towards _him_.

 He doesn’t know how to feel about this.

It was never even supposed to turn out like this. They were _supposed_ to just be fucking. A new way for them to spar; taking enjoyment in the action while fighting to see the other come undone. That’s how it had started.  He had fucking _loved_ watching Kurosaki come undone. Sweat on his brow, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure and a moan on his lips. Fucking prime masturbation material. But Kurosaki slowly pulled him apart as well. He fought back less and started _letting_ Kurosaki take the lead, letting him bite his throat and pin his wrists. He thought it was hot, seeing this side to him, _the side that nobody else got to see_. That was how he had rationalized it at the time, but now he was grudgingly forced to accept that there was more to it. Kurosaki saw him as more than just a rival or sparring partner. And while Grimmjow had long since accepted they were no longer classed as enemies, it took him until very recently (now) to acknowledge he felt anything more towards him.

Grimmjow would never let _anyone_ else do the things Kurosaki was doing to him. If a previous partner had pulled his hair he would have ripped their arm off. He let Kurosaki do it because he just somehow knew that Kurosaki would do it _right_. He would roughhouse him but make sure he enjoyed every second of it, he knew Kurosaki would never leave him unsatisfied, he knew…

…Trust. He fucking _trusts_ him.

He mentally slaps a hand against his forehead. This fucking brat was going to be the death of him.

“Are you okay?”

Grimmjow blinks his eyes back into focus and he notices Ichi - _Kurosaki_ – has sat up next to him, leaning over and staring down at him with those fucking eyes again. Concern. That’s another emotion he can recognise. “Hmm? M’fine.” Grimmjow replied lazily. Why the fuck wouldn’t he be okay?

“You’re quiet,” Kurosaki said as if reading his mind. He shifts hesitantly, his fingers twitching before Grimmjow feels them trace lightly over his neck. The skin there is a little tender and he imagines there are bruises from where Kurosaki had grasped him. “Did I hurt you?”

Grimmjow would have laughed at the absurdity of the question ( _hurt_ him? Fuck off) had his chest not tightened painfully. Kurosaki genuinely cares about him, that’s clear enough through his eyes and words, and Grimmjow doesn’t know what to do with this information. The fingers on his skin are so fucking gentle and Grimmjow wishes it didn’t feel so nice. _Affection will get you killed_ , a little voice in his head says but Grimmjow ignores it in favour of staring into the warm depths of Kurosaki’s eyes. He tries to swallow down the lump that forms in his throat. “You just ruined the mood, Kurosaki,” he finally manages, rolling his eyes in attempt to appear unbothered.

“You’re being quiet and you’re covered in bruises,” Kurosaki comments as his eyes trail down Grimmjow’s nude body, there were bruises beginning to form around his hips too and Grimmjow watches him frown; the idiot probably feels guilty. “Am I not allowed to worry about you?”

 _No_ , Grimmjow wants to say, _don’t make things unnecessarily complicated_. But he can’t form the words because he knows it’s too late for that, it’s already complicated. That little voice in his head is telling him to cut this off; he has no need for relationships or concern from a Shinigami brat in his world. This is his rational sense talking he’s sure but the thought of not seeing those eyes again leaves him feeling cold.

“Tch, you’re wasting your time,” Grimmjow scoffs at last, pushing himself to his feet whilst simultaneously shifting back into his sealed form. He feels his bones change and his feet land flat when it’s over, his toes curling in the sand. Pantera materialises a couple of feet away along with his clothes which never seem to reappear on his body if he removes his armour (which he does very rarely).  Rolling his shoulders and shaking the stiffness from his muscles, unabashed in his nudity, Grimmjow throws a smirk at Kurosaki who was watching him closely.

“Save your worry. If I can still stand then it means you weren’t rough enough.”

With a final flash of his teeth, he strolls over to where is clothes lays and picks up his tattered, cropped jacket and uses it to wipe down his chest. He almost – _almost –_ jumps when he feels fingers brushing against his thighs and hot breath ghosting over the shell of his ear.

“That sounds suspiciously like a challenge,” Kurosaki breathes, catching Grimmjow’s earlobe between his teeth and tugging. A shudder rolls through his body. His words were supposed to have been dismissive, not suggestive, but now Kurosaki is sucking softly on a spot on his neck and a single finger idly tracing circles on his inner thigh. He lets his head fall back.

“Don’t overestimate yourself, Kurosaki.”

The material of Kurosaki’s shihakushou is sweeping against his legs and that voice reminds him to put some clothes on.

“Maybe you’re the one overestimating yourself.”

He’s trying not to react but this is Kurosaki fucking _Ichigo_ and the air is thick with his reiatsu and that little voice in his head is completely drowned out as Grimmjow raises his own reiatsu, rising to the challenge Kurosaki has laid out for him. He reaches back and grasps Kurosaki’s thigh, digging his nails into the flesh there.

“Think you’re so fucking good, don’t ya…”

“Never heard you complain yet, Grimmjow.”

His hands are sliding up Grimmjow pelvis, gliding around his growing arousal, and coming to rest near his hollow hole.

“Grimmjow…”

A finger is begins to tease the rim of the hole and Grimmjow sharply sucks in air through his teeth. The old Grimmjow would have snarled _get your fucking hands away from there_. This Grimmjow waits, his eyes slipping shut, because he wants to see how daring Kurosaki will be - he’s already made one bold move today. He can sense he’s hesitating again, debating whether or not he should go through with whatever idea is running through his head. Finally, Grimmjow feels Kurosaki’s lips brushing his skin and he speaks softly.

“Grimmjow… you trust me, right?”

He isn’t able to deny those words and makes no movement to stop him when Ichigo slides his palm inside his hollow hole. His legs quake beneath him and he knows he’s fucked


End file.
